15: Guilty as Charged
Many years of my marriage were spent trying to fix something that was broken before we made it to the altar.
In retrospect, I feel we both were carrying a heavy cargo of unhealed wounds in addition to some rather deep scars from our childhood years. Neither of us was aware of the potential impact they would take, nor how they would inhibit us from applying common sense when processing life amid its daily struggles.
Don’t t get me wrong, there were good, even great times, it wasn’t all bad. But like so often the case, the bad outweighed the good.
You must remember that I am writing these blog posts from my vantage point. I don’t know how this would read if it was being written by Mr. R. or those close to us. I am however certain that their perception would be unlike mine.
I think it rational, or if you prefer, sensible, to admit failure when it’s staring you straight in the face.
There comes a time that no matter how desperately you want to keep your head buried, you run out of sand.
In my case, it happened on a Friday, sometime in September.
I was busy preparing supper when the phone rang, it was my friend Mrs. CC, her call was to inform me that she couldn’t go out dancing because her hubby had put his foot down and said NO!
At one point in the conversation, I accused her of being a wimp (as if I was in a position to speak), by allowing her husband to rule her life. I think it was at that moment she decided to set me straight as to who was the wimp, and why.
Cool as a freshly picked cucumber, she proceeded to inform me of what had taken place at my house the Saturday prior.
She had been visiting when my oldest fell from a tree resulting in a nasty gash that required stitches, she offered to babysit the youngest seeing that Mr. R was not at home. Needless to say I was extremely grateful for her offer.
What I was unaware of, was that Mr. R arrived shortly afterwards, and with the knowledge that it’d be gone for at least an hour, they proceeded to make good use of the available time to make out.
As she proceeded to educated me as to who was the wimp and the stupid bitch, I stood frozen by the kitchen sink, carrot peeler in hand, stomach turning violently sick, knees wanting to buckling under as she explicitly filled me in on the nitty-gritty details, and just before signing off, to let me know that their little sex-fest had been taking place for the quite some time.
Seriously, I couldn’t believe what she’d said, yet I knew she was telling the truth, the details coincided 100%.
After having a good crying spell, and emptying out my stomach, I regained my composure, promising myself to handle the ‘situation’ as an adult. I was not going to get emotional, I was not going to scream and cause a scene, I was going to calmly tell him to pack his bags and leave.
It was around 8 o’clock when Mr. R arrived home. My oldest was at a sleep over with her cousin who lived directly across the street, the youngest was sound asleep.
I was coming out of the bathroom as Mr. R entered the back door, and upon seeing his face, not only did I lose my composure, I broke down in tears.
I remember wanting to lash out and hit him, to hurt him, to make him pay for all the years I’d buried my head deeply in the sand. Instead I listened to his lame explanation of how he couldn’t help himself and how she was the one that was responsible for his adultery.
I knew he was lying, both of them were guilty. Moreover, I knew I was partially to blame, because I had chosen to keep my head buried since day one.
I’d chosen to take the easy way out by choosing to remain in denial while adding layer upon layer of hurt into my ‘icicle box of souvenirs’!
When I look back and analyze the situation, it is extremely evident that my reasoning was warped to say the least. ............... <Next>